


The Poster

by GlowwormiK



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Fanboy Varkon, Galra Empire, Gen, Platonic Relationships, Platonic admiration, brave varkon, dreams come true, galra police
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 16:41:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12193719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlowwormiK/pseuds/GlowwormiK
Summary: The story of how Varkon, a policeman, managed to meet the Emperor and receivd the poster we saw in his office.Inspired by this awesome art: http://aminoapps.com/page/voltron-legendary-defenders/7445245/varkon-dream-come-true .Written for https://platonicvldmonth.tumblr.com/, but i cannot wait to post it right now.





	The Poster

Second lieutenant Varkon always knew he was a loser. Life always made sure to give him the sourest of lemons and leave no sugar in a mile radius.  
  
That morning, his life seemed especially unbearable to him. He knew he had to wake up and go to work, but getting up was just too difficult. He opened one eye. The emperor was looking at him from the wall. “We shall prevail”, the capture said. Usually, it would cheer Varkon up, but today it wasn't enough. He sighed and sat on his bed, shivering and wiggling his foot in a futile attempt to find his slippers. The emperor in the bathroom reminded him about the importance of hygiene. This one was one of Varkon's first posters, he took it from a boy scout camp when he was 11. The poster was laminated several times to withstand the moisture, but Varkon still poked it with his finger to check if everything was okay. He brushed his teeth and went to the kitchen. The fridge was empty; he forgot to buy eggs again.  
  
(No food, no girlfriend, how can someone call this a life? Miserable existence at most.)  
  
Varkon found a can of beans and decided to warm them up in a saucepan. The kitchen emperor didn't have a caption; it wasn't a poster, just a picture Varkon cut out from a magazine. Prok offered him a mint-condition Emperor figurine with moving limbs in exchange, but Varkon refused. It was a spontaneous shot, one of the few in his collection, and it was very different from polished poses on posters. The Emperor looked half surprised, half annoyed, and he was captured in movement, so that his cape swirled around him in a blur.  
  
He also doesn't have a girlfriend or a wife, Varkon thought, feeling ashamed for his thoughts. The Emperor is so incredibly handsome; any woman would kill for a chance to win his heart, but he chooses not to get married. Our emperor works day and night for us, and we are ungrateful enough to whine about our tiny problems in our unimportant lives, when the best thing we could do is work better for the sake of the empire. Varkon sighed again. Today he will definitely revise all the old crates in the storage department.  
  
(No influencial family, no brains, no body.)  
  
He never actually dreamt to meet the Emperor himself. Too big was the difference, an ant doesn't dream to become a mountain. The very thought of existing in the same universe as someone so perfect, and even belonging to the same species as he, made the second lieutenant happy. But sometimes he wished he could see his Emperor, somehow. Perhaps from afar, perhaps in procession, it didn't matter. Sadly, the Emperor didn’t show himself much in front of general public. Or maybe Varkon could talk to someone who actually saw him in person? Anything, just to know he is real. There were rumours... Sometimes people said that Zarkon wasn't even a usual galra, but an evil deity from another world masked as one of us. Sometimes they said he was long dead, and his body was used as a puppet by his generals. Sometimes they said he never existed in the first place. Those who spread those rumours would disappear without trace, but the thoughts persisted.  
  
Dreams, dreams. To distract himself from sad thoughts, Varkon started planning the day out in his head. First thing, he needed to report his plan to clean storage rooms to the captain.  
  
He exited his room in the back side of the mall and marched towards the captain's office, when young Sal, apprentice cook at the Morgalia restaurant, noticed him.  
  
„Hey Varkon!” he yelled, „Come try my new recipe!“  
  
Oh Quiznak, Varkon thought. Sal was the worst cook Varkon has ever met in his life. Still, refusing to acknowledge this invitation would look rude, and he liked the guy, so he approached.  
  
„Hi Sal, what is it today?“  
  
„Slug rolls!“ Sal explained enthusiastically.  
  
The rolls tasted every bit as disgusting as they sounded.  
  
(Why can't he develop the boldness to tell people what he really thinks?)  
  
„Ehm... Well, they are definitely very unusual...“ Varkon mumbled. Sal's face lit up.  
  
„Thank you! I knew that! And my chef just threw the first portion into garbage! What does he even know, right?“  
  
What a wise man, your chef, Varkon thought, but only said that he was busy and left. His mouth still tasted of those slugs and the beans were definitely not enough to satiate him. Perhaps he could sneak into the storage and grab one of the ready-packed lunches from there real quick? What damage can one extra lunch do to his waistline? Plus the captain is not very strict about tardiness anyway...  
  
(No self-control)  
  
In the storage rooms, Varkon found a whole new crate with lunches. His heart jumped. No way, are those from the new yield? This is awesome! At least one good thing in this miserable day. He took the ladder and pulled one jar out of the crate. Crabs, yum! Saliva filed his mouth immediately. With shaking hands, he tore the cap off and gasped - it was filled with dust instead of dried food. What the hell? Where are the crabs? Varkon threw the jar aside and grabbed another one. Same thing. Crates with lunches were just a screen to hide something! But what? 

Varkon tried to move heavy staples of crates to the side, but without any success. Then he squeezed himself between them, losing several buttons on his stomach. The area in the backside of the storage facility was only dimly lit, but the single lamp was enough for Varkon to shriek. He was standing near a laser cannon!  
  
After the first shock wore off, Varkon dared to inspect the cannon. In the police academy, the emphasis was put on personal weapons, but he still knew how such heavy weaponry would work. This one was definitely modified from the factory specs. Instead of the control terminal, there was a box attached to it. Varkon put the communicator aside and examined the it.  
  
To his horror, it was a clock mechanism. And it was set to fire in several hours! Varkon took a deep breath, staring at the box. His first urge was to run to the captain and warn him, but then he remembered something.

"Take it easy next days," the captain told him a couple of days ago. "Why are you always so serious? Go socialize a little, it will do you good. Flirt with the girls!"

He didn't want me to go here, Varkon realised. If I had come to him with the idea of sorting out storage today, he would have sent me away somewhere and I would have never known. The captain cannot be trusted.... But if not the captain, then who? Varkon didn't have any connections in those upper levels of police departments; he had no idea what he should do. Suddenly, he felt very small and very helpless. The captain was always so solemn, so friendly; he talked so nicely about being a loyal servant to the empire no matter how small one's role is. Could it all have been lies?  
  
Oh, he could send a direct report to the commander of his sector. Each policeman had the right for two direct communications: one with a message, one for a distress signal. The single problem was that there was no way he could convince the main police department that he found a hidden laser cannon in a shopping mall and make them come here and disarm the clock. They would surely think he was hallucinating.

Varkon pulled his knees to his chest and started swaying from left to right. What to do? Whom to ask? If the cannon fires, it can destroy a whole planet. Who knows where it is directed at? And there is no one in the mall who can help him.  
  
As usual in times of trouble, Varkon started remembering his posters. There was his treasure, his absolutely favourite one. The one with the bust of the emperor, saying „Victory or death“. It was incredibly old, issued millennia ago. Varkon found it after one raid on the pirates and has been keeping as a treasure ever since. The emperor looked straight at him from this poster as if demanding victory this instant. Victory or death. Varkon closed his eyes. He could try to disarm the clock, but if he was to fail, it would explode and his chances of survival were close to zero. Still, if the cannon fires, millions of lives may be wiped out. And the captain must have already found out where he went , so vile pirates must already be roaming the mall, searching for him. His life was not worth a penny now. Varkon sobbed. He didn't want to die. But he also didn't want to fail his Emperor.  
  
He sneaked out of his current storage cell and grabbed the closest set of working tools he could find. No one was there yet. He returned to the cannon. This is going to take every bit of his knowledge.  
  
(No luck)  
  
He failed, of course. When he was halfway through, he cut an innocent-looking wire. The control started blinking, Varkon jumped up in horror, driven only by wild survival instinct. The box behind him exploded; the wave of heat raised him and threw him on the ground. His body was filled with unbearable pain, when he noticed his communicator nearby. With the last ounce of strength, before slipping into the black void, he pressed the emergency alert button.  
  
The void was not entirely black, as it turned out. It was red and purple. And it was filled with endless, merciless pain. Some weird, distorted figures appeared in front of them. His face burnt and body ached and he cried with pain. Fire demons, he remembered. His grandmother used to tell him tales of fire demons who come to you if you misbehave and eat you alive. This must be demons eating him. Go away, he wanted to shout, leave me alone, but his mouth was sealed shut. Sometimes he heard voices. Pulse disappearing they said. Critical state. I need him alive, you hear me? Spend a couple more vials on him; he saved your entire laboratories. It is not about the amount, he is too broken. I am broken, Varkon understood. The cannon broke me. Did it fire at me? Where did demons come from, what did I do? It is because you are a loser, Varkon. Have you considered giving him a cybernetic prosthetic? We are through, I don't want to date a loser. Don't date me, just make demons go away!

When Varkon woke up, he wasn't in the mall any more. In fact, after the first few seconds, he decided that he died and went to heaven. It was no heaven, of course, just a hospital. A really fancy central hospital, with shining panels everywhere and with more nurses than patients. He has never been in such a high-class environment. They cared about Varkon flawlessly, but he felt that they despised him. What this simpleton even does here, this question was written on everyone's faces. But to his relief, no one asked anything openly. He tried to talk about the cannon and the drugs, but everyone would just shush him and tell him to lie down and rest, so eventually he gave up.  
  
Varkon felt very weak and very broken. He didn't feel his legs. Your spine has been crushed in several places, the doctors said. You might never walk again. Every light or noise made him sick. A severe concussion. He couldn't move because of broken ribs, but he didn't really want to. It is a miracle that you even survived, they said. You need to thank lady Haggar and her druids for your rescue. Varkon didn't know who lady Haggar was and didn't care. It seemed that that one crazy morning took all his strength. He slept a lot when he could, because even the best painkillers couldn't still the ache in his back.

When he woke up next time, it was from yelling.  
  
“I need him this instant!” somebody shouted.  
  
“But he is still too weak, Throk!” another person protested.  
  
“What do you think, the emperor will wait for this idiot to recover? The council is in half a varga!”  
  
Emperor? The Emperor emperor? Varkon lost his breath. The Emperor is somewhere near? There is a chance to see him?  
  
“I am fine!” he exclaimed, opening his eyes. “I can go!”  
  
The two people arguing, his doctor and another, unfamiliar thin tall galra, both looked at him in surprise. Then, the tall one grinned and said:  
  
“Told you he'll come!”

He could hardly walk, and the doctor had to give him a lion's portion of painkillers to even allow him get out of bed. He whined from fierce pain in his back, but struggled on his feet. If there was a chance to see his Emperor, he wouldn't miss it.  
  
“Hold your mouth close,” Throk said, as they were walking down the corridor. “I'll do the talking.” Varkon was grateful to him for that, since he could hardy keep himself from crying with pain.  
  
They walked down the corridors of the main base, a fact that would have made Varkon ecstatic, if not for the suffering of walking straight. He hardly noticed the throne room as they entered, too, as they were walking down the seemingly endless pathway.  
  
There were several people present, but Varkon didn't see any of them. He couldn't take his eyes of the one on the throne. Before, Varkon would sometimes ask himself in the posters were truthful. How could anyone be as perfect the emperor? Now he found out that the posters didn't lie. The regal purple cape was on his Emperor’s shoulders, and he wore his signature forehead helmet. But Varkon would have recognized him from a mile away not for his clothes. Emperor Zarkon was as huge as they painted him, and even more menacing. The commanding aura surrounding him seemed almost palpable. The demigod from the wall pictures was now staring at Varkon silently with his burning, narrow purple eyes. All air seemed to have left poor Galra's lungs; all he could do was stare back in panic mixed with admiration. Thoughts were jumping in Varkon's head like frogs in a lake. What I do, he thought frantically. Do I greet him? Do I wait until he speaks to me? The emperor was examining Varkon for what seemed like an eternity and a single second at the same time, until he finally spoke.  
  
"Report," he ordered.  
  
Report what, he wanted to ask, but before he opened his mouth, Throk started speaking.  
  
“We are here on behalf of the space mall incident, my Lord.”  
  
Throk's high voice pulled Varkon out of his swoon and he suddenly realized that he should have bowed a long time ago. Panicking even more, Varkon decided to kneel, but his legs suddenly tangled and he landed on the floor, severely hitting his knee and feeling that his back was about to melt with pain.  
  
“You wished to hear what happened from the people who acted there. I was there, my Lord. I disabled the laser cannon. When I received the distress signal, I immediately knew what had to be done. I rushed...”  
  
“He is lying.”  
  
The voice was female, and coming from the throne. Amazed, Varkon dared to raise his head. She was standing there, almost hidden behind the armrest, her head hardly above the Emperor's elbow. A small, slouchy figure, completely covered by her cloak. Varkon couldn't see her face, but he felt goose bumps on his back anyway. There was something about her that made her even scarier than the mighty Emperor himself.  
  
His Majesty threw a sideway glance at her.  
  
“There was an explosion,” the woman continued, “and the first ones to react were the employees of the mall. They organised the evacuation. The arrival of the first support jet was registered after a varga and a half. Also, the reports suggest that the cannon had already been deactivated by the explosion by the time it was discovered.”  
  
“What?!” Throk gasped with anger. “My Lord, this is all a lie! The reports must have been written in haste, they...”  
  
The emperor suddenly slammed his fists on the throne.  
  
“I have no time for your excuses. Varkon!”  
  
“Yes, my Lord?” Varkon squeaked.  
  
“Tell me exactly what you did that morning.”  
  
"Yes, my emperor." Varkon didn't expect to be allowed to talk that freely, he felt unprepared. "I- I- you see, I am the junior police officer in the mall. So I there I was in the morning, I was about to go clean the storage rooms, oh, and before I wanted to see the captain, but Sal prepared slug rolls and I thought I'd eat something else afterwards, because I barely had breakfast, because..."  
  
“I can speed this up,” the scary woman said. The emperor nodded, the woman raised her hand and everything went dark again.  
  
When he woke up next time, it was the middle of the night. Of course, the battle station didn't have actual days and nights, but diurnal rhythms were still kept. His room was completely dark, only a thin ray of light coming from under the door. What happened? He remembered the scary woman and realised that she must have knocked him out somehow. But why? And what happened next, so that he landed in his bed again?  
  
The pain was back, too, but Varkon figured that there were still several hours before the next shot, since he got a huge portion earlier. He looked at the light under the door fixedly until his eyes started to water, and then closed his eyes. He could call the nurse, of course, she would come. But what for? She will only pat him on the head and repeat that the doctor doesn't allow him full doses, because his heart is weak and can stop. Varkon started looking at the light again, until it seemed to grow.

The emperor was standing at the door.  
  
„Sire?“ Varkon couldn't believe his eyes. What would the emperor do here at this hour?  
  
„You are awake, good,“ Zarkon was still standing above Varkon like a battle tower. The policeman looked into his purple eyes, feeling hypnotized.  
  
„Are you real?“ he asked.  
  
„If I visited you during day time, it would attract attention to you immediately.“  
  
So he took time to come over here at night. Varkon felt like crying with happiness.  
  
“Do you know what you did?” the Emperor started.  
  
“I fainted? I am very sorry, my Lord, please...”  
  
“No, before, the morning when you found out about the cannon.”  
  
“I found it and it had this weird timing box, which I tried to disable, but I cut this wire...”  
  
Oh goodness, I am talking too much again, he realised. The Emperor nodded.  
  
“Yes, you failed to disable the timing box, but the explosion that nearly killed you damaged the cannon itself, also creating panic that attracted attention to your mall. Do you know what you achieved by you actions?”  
  
“No,” Varkon whispered. Oh no, did he do something wrong?  
  
“The cannon was programmed to shoot at the laboratory that circulates around your sun, and exactly at the time when high priestess Haggar was to inspect it. The laboratory studies quintessence, and it is one of the biggest and most important ones. If the cannon had shot, everyone in the laboratory would have died and invaluable data would have been lost.”  
  
Quintessence. The magical juice, the most important thing in the universe. To think that he, Varkon, could have had something to do with it!  
  
“I serve the Empire, my Lord,” Varkon murmured, unable to find better words.  
  
„I cannot reward you officially,“ the emperor went on.  
  
„I don't need a reward!“ Varkon exclaimed „I serve the Empire!“  
  
„Officially, with a medal.“ The emperor repeated weightily. „This would show the enemies of the state who was the source of their failure and make them hunt you for the rest of your life. So we shall let Throk claim this victory for himself. But this doesn't mean that you won't be rewarded. What do you want, Varkon? Grow in ranks? Be transferred to a well-paid and secure place? Your legs will never again serve you like they did, but there are secretary posts. Or do you want money? You are not the richest man. Think it over carefully, you don't have to answer now.“  
  
Varkon swallowed down a painful knot in his throat. He already knew what he would say.  
  
„Sire, I don't need any of that. I don't want a quiet place, I would gladly do the same thing again if it was needed. When I said I served the Empire, I was lying. I serve you. You are my inspiration, my deity, the only reason I get out of bed every morning. I dreamt of seeing you for my whole life, but I could never hope for this dream to come true. The fact that I, a puny loser, could be useful to you and prevent a danger to your plans, is the biggest reward on its own. The fact that you came to see me personally will make me proud for the rest of my days. But since your kindness surpasses even your greatness, and you offer me more rewards, then I will be audacious enough. May I have your autograph, Sire? Just anything, a couple of words. It will make me the happiest galra in the universe and I will treasure it forever!”  
  
Varkon went silent, not knowing what to expect. What if he angered the emperor? Or will he sign something right now? Zarkon stood up and sighed.  
  
„What poisons do these doctors feed you to make you intoxicated enough to blabber such nonsense,“ he hissed. He turned away and left.

Varkon never felt more destroyed, more humiliated in his whole life than he did next days. I spoke from my heart, he thought, but it was so stupid that the emperor didn't even think I was in my right mind. I am a mockery, a sad excuse for a galra. Why didn't I ask for something smart instead? I could have asked to be his personal servant, then I could see him every day, but I blew this chance. Tasty meals the hospital offered him suddenly became bleak, even handsome nurses couldn't dispel his depression. He felt as lonely and as useless as ever.

Before letting him go, they sent him to talk to the doctor once more.  
  
„We managed to make you able to walk, but I don't think it is going to be much better than it is now,“ the doctor said. It was a new one, young and thin, with very light skin.  
  
„From now on, to go far or fast, you will need the scooter. The prescription is attached to your files, so you will get them for free from the state. Take it easy for the time being, both your body and your mind still need healing.“ Varkon nodded. He knew he should be thankful to the doctor for his recovery, but didn't feel anything.

The relocation office was the next step. A fat, gloomy captain searched a pile of papers for his documents for so long that Varkon thought he would never finish. The newly healed back hurt while sitting, but his legs were still weak and he couldn't stand for long time. Finally, the officer found a thick envelope.  
  
„Lieutenant Varkon!“ he announced „You are being increased in ranks skipping one grade and are from now on Captain of Police. My congratulations, Captain. You are assigned chief police officer of the space mall number 7GHY. Congratulations on that, too. Your salary will be increased according with your rank. Your multiplication coefficient is now 3,5.“  
  
Varkon nodded again.  
  
„Wow, you are one lucky guy,“ the officer said. „The highest salary coefficient, whole two ranks further. What did ya do, man?“  
  
„Nothing particular,“ answered Varkon. He disliked this guy, and the back was now hurting so much that he could hardly sit.  
  
„Oh I bet you didn't,“ the captain was offended „Just another upstart with fancy parents. Take your papers and get out of here.“  
  
He handed Varkon his files and a big hard envelope and pushed him out.

Outside the office, Varkon had to wipe his eyes several times. The Emperor really didn't listen to anything he said. He received a new title and then they basically just discarded him to the same dump he was living in before. A few days ago, the new rank, bigger salary would have made him happy beyond limit, but now all he could think was his embarrassment in front of the Emperor.

Varkon kept suffering all the way back. The seat in the spaceship was uncomfortable for his back, so he could neither sit nor walk properly, and his neighbours, two very snobby military men, didn't lighten his mood, either. The dumb envelope was too big for his bag and bit into his calve through the entire trip. When Varkon got off the shuttle in the mall, his legs were already giving in and he had to use the scooter.

The mall looked a lot different, walls to the storage facilities taken down, many things being renovated. This is going to be his place, it was before and he will never be able to leave it. Losers get what they deserve. On his way to his quarters he met Sal.  
  
„Varkon!“ Sal yelled „Where have you been? We were all worried sick! What happened to you?“  
  
Seeing his wide smile made Varkon feel even worse. The cook was worried, while he completely forgot about him! Now Varkon was feeling guilty on top of everything else.  
  
“Do you know the news? My chef was a pirate, can you imagine! And the captain was helping him! They stored drugs in our basement! And they wanted to attack the mall! They got them now! And I own the place from now on! I will call it Vrepit Sal! And I heard you were promoted, too! Amazing, right?”  
  
Sal's hyperactive enthusiasm started getting on Varkon's nerves, so he did his best to escape. In his office, Varkon sat at his table and sighed. The stupid envelope was now lying before him. Well, better get over with it. Clear everything and forget as fast as possible.

When Varkon opened the envelope, he couldn't contain an angry exclamation.  
  
A poster.  
  
They put a poster in the envelope. In his collection, Varkon has many rare pictures, but this one was trivial, for newly conquered planets and bad neighbourhoods. A full-body one, the emperor stands, hands on his hips; and a slogan, „The Empire we serve“. His majesty doesn't even look at the reader. Pathetic.  
  
Angry tears burnt Varkon's eyes again. Is it just that? They gave him this disgusting excuse of a present, as if he is a schoolboy after an excursion. What else did he earn, a pen? Why would they even give him such a banal thing, he would have been happier without this sign of condescension. He crumpled the poster and was about to throw it into the trash bin, when he noticed something on the back side. Unable to believe his eyes, he straightened the paper with shaking hands.  
  
The inscription was done in simple black ink, letters separate from each other, but Varkon forgot how to breathe. The text said

_To soldier Varkon_

_We are Galra. Nothing stops us but triumph or death._

_Zarkon_

Varkon sat there, speechless, unable to take his eyes off the text; his thoughts a happy mess. The Emperor. The Emperor himself put this envelope into his files. The Emperor himself wrote these lines. He did hear after all. He did remember. His emperor wrote him a personal message. His Majesty called him the soldier of his army. He wrote „we“ and “Galra”. His emperor considers him a fellow Galra. He signed with just his name, not the title. Just „Zarkon“. Like an equal. Like a friend.  
  
Unable to believe it was real, Varkon touched the letters with a shaking finger. The back side of the poster was glossy and cold. The Emperor’s hand touched this paper. This poster lay on his table. He signed the poster himself. He put it in the envelope (Varkon grabbed the envelope from the table, too). Varkon carefully sniffed the poster, but it only smelled of paper. The Emperor took it out of a pile and signed it for him. Varkon couldn't help a small happy squeak. His Majesty probably doesn’t know the value of different posters, they are all the same for him, so he just took the first one he found.  
  
Then, a sticky, greedy fear clutched Varkon's heart. No one may see it. This is personal. This is just for him. He rushed to a small locker where he kept his documents, tore the existing poster from the back wall, and quickly glued the new one in its place. The locker had an auto-closing function and was fireproof. Now the treasure was safe from all dangers. Now no one would see the lines that his Emperor wrote. Now it is just their secret.

When Varkon exited the office, he felt like another man.  
  
„My Emperor,” he thought „I will not disappoint you“.


End file.
